


So Many Things I'd Say If I Were Able

by catteo



Category: Rookie Blue
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-19
Updated: 2012-01-19
Packaged: 2017-10-29 19:00:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/323088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catteo/pseuds/catteo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Future fic. Gail and Luke work together as Homicide Detectives. They're still at 15 Division and Frank sends them out on a case that requires them to go undercover. In Vegas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So Many Things I'd Say If I Were Able

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at my livejournal.

Dark grey clouds stretch listlessly out across the horizon. A drizzle, not quite heavy enough to be rain, permeating everything around him. The whole of the city seems to be in mourning. Luke thinks it’s fitting, given the circumstances. The entire world is bleak, cold and foreboding. Small drops of water collect on the cheeks of the dead girl lying on the ground. They form rivulets on her cheeks. It looks like she’s crying.

He feels numb. Defeated.

A harsh wind has gradually picked up, blowing across the park. Fragments of litter chase each other in endless circles across the ground. He rolls up the collar of his jacket. A futile gesture. A tongue of bitter cold snakes under his scarf, eases down his spine. Takes up residence in his soul. He stares down at the blank eyes, gazing towards the sky. Tries to convince himself that it’s not accusation he sees there.

Everything about this crime scene is familiar. The way her arms are crossed over her body, as though in a last embrace. The stark bruises marring the otherwise perfect pale skin. The lack of any leads or evidence. This feeling of failure has become so commonplace now that it’s like a second skin. An itch just below the surface, rubbing him raw.

Bright halogen lights suddenly flare. He turns away from the false daylight and walks towards the gloom, shoulders slumped. Ignores the sidelong looks, the sympathetic eyes. Focuses on the job. Fears what might happen if he frees the emotions screaming in his head.

He’s so focused on _not_ looking that he walks straight into her. Detective Gail Peck. All platinum blonde hair and crimson lips. She stands out in his vision in vivid technicolour. The thought that she doesn’t belong here flares bright in his mind. He ignores it. He’s getting good at that. Denying his feelings. Disregarding the flash of white heat in his chest whenever they work a case together. He’s been down that road before. Knows the heartache. How impossible it is to stitch yourself back together once you’ve been shattered into a million pieces. How you’re never quite who you were.

It doesn’t stop him from grabbing her arm to steady her as she stumbles. He wonders if the jolt of electricity sparking under his hands is felt by him alone. An adrenaline rush that makes him feel like he’s falling. He sees her breath in the air as she huffs out a surprised exhale. Feels the nearness of her in his blood. Swallows. Closes his eyes for a second and focuses on the rain. The cold in his lungs. Anything but her.

“Hey. If you wanted to dance you could have just asked.” Said with an arched eyebrow and laughter in her eyes. Luke somehow manages to plaster a half-smile on his face. Figures it’s better than telling her the truth. That he feels frozen and helpless. That girls keep dying and he keeps failing to catch their killer. That the victims look just like her. That every time he sees a body there’s a dizzying second when he thinks it _is_ her. Thinks that he might be about to die too.

“Well I wasn’t sure that you’d keep up. Didn’t want to disappoint your fans.” He waves an arm. Gesturing at the cops trying hard not to stare. He doesn’t know how he’s managing to maintain this façade. All he wants to do is get her away from here. Keep her safe. She’d laugh if she knew. She laughs anyway. The sound of it catches at his darkest corners. He smiles despite himself.

“So, is it another one? Same perp?” Gail’s suddenly all business, striding towards the bright glare surrounding the crime scene. She dips easily under the tape cordon, barely breaks stride. Looks down at the half exposed girl with an unfathomable expression on her face. It never fails to surprise him how focused she gets when they’re on a case. So unlike the unsure girl that she was as a Rookie, eager to please and quick to follow the pack. He wonders what it would take to break through the carefully constructed walls she’s built for herself.

“Looks like it. Same M.O. Third one this month and we’re getting nowhere.” He can’t quite keep the bitterness out of his voice. There’s an undercurrent of hopelessness that he hates himself for.

“Luke, we’re making progress. At least we know where he’s finding them now. We’ll get him, okay? C’mon.” She seems to accept his shrug as agreement. He doesn’t bother to correct her. He feels as though he’s been here before with the Zoe Martinelli case. Finally solved four years ago, but he still wakes in a cold sweat some nights. Thrashing at his sheets, gasping for air. It’s happening more and more often. As though his body has some sort of sense memory. The rain starts falling in earnest as he follows her back towards the cars. He wishes it would wash away the past.

++++

It’s been three months since they found the last girl at Riverdale Park. Three months of broken sleep and nightmares he wishes he could forget. The trail’s gone cold but every morning he almost holds his breath until she appears. Two coffees in hand and a greeting on her lips. He’s given up telling himself it doesn’t mean anything. Just accepts her greeting of “Hey, Homicide” with a nod. Pretends the warmth in his chest is just the coffee. Tries not to stare as she sits at the desk opposite him, the room suddenly small. Two years as partners and he can still barely breathe when she’s in the same space. He’s just gotten better at pretending the tightness in his lungs is normal.

“Hey, Frank wants to see us in his office. Apparently there might be a lead on our case. Also, does Noelle look like she’s putting on weight again? I swear, if anyone else 'round here gets pregnant I’m going to stop having sex.” It’s typical Gail. Comment thrown over her shoulder as she walks out of the room. Luke tries to swallow around the sudden lump in his throat. Fails.

She sticks her head back 'round the door. “Are you coming? Or just thinking about me naked?” Flashes him a grin and vanishes again. He grinds the heels of his hands against his eyes. Tries to banish the images flashing through his mind. Takes a breath. Exhales. Looks down at the file open before him.

Blonde. Late twenties to early thirties. Approximately 120-130 pounds. Red lipstick smeared across the side of her chin. Cuts on her cheek. A brutal, purple bruise standing out starkly on the pale white of her neck. He can’t even remember her name. They all look the same. They all look like Gail. He pushes himself to his feet, follows her to Frank’s office. Tries to ignore the hope that flares like a spark inside him. That maybe they can finally win. Get through this. That he can get _her_ through this.

He’s surprised to see Andy and Sam there. They’ve been off on some undercover assignment together for months now. His heart no longer skips a beat when he sees her. Mostly he’s just sorry for how it turned out. Sorry that they’re not even friends now. Sometimes he feels like he’s swimming in an ocean of regret and barely keeping his head above water. Feels Gail’s elbow in his ribs and snaps back to the present.

“So, I guess you know that Swarek and McNally have been in deep cover for the last six months? They’ve been getting close to the leader of a gang that smuggles girls into the country. Problem is, girls started going missing. Then turning up dead. People began asking questions and suddenly the guy vanishes. Rumour has it he’s in Vegas.” Frank pauses. Looks at Sam. “Swarek, you wanna fill us in?”

Sam throws some photos down on the desk. Ten slightly different versions of Gail smile happily up at Luke. He knows what happens next. Cold bodies and shallow unmarked graves. He fights the dizzying nausea, swallows the bile at the back of his throat. Tries not to look at Gail. The sound of Sam’s voice gradually filters in past the white noise rushing in his ears.

“…guy Charlie Baker. He’s the one who was setting it all up. We thought we had him and then these girls started disappearing from the clubs. There were rumours that Charlie liked a certain type of girl. _This_ type of girl.” Sam gestures at the table. “People started to talk about Charlie not being good for business any more. Looks like he ran. We’ve got a C.I. tells us he’s in Vegas.”

Frank turns and picks up a file. Spreads another five photographs out on his desk. Luke hears Gail’s sharp inhale of breath. “These girls have all been found in the desert in the last three weeks. Look familiar? The guys down there are happy for us to be involved, so I told them I was sending my best detectives. Callaghan? Peck? You leave tonight.”

Luke opens his mouth to protest. To tell Frank that this is the worst idea he’s ever had. That Gail is _finally_ safe with this murderer gone. He’s prepared to beg if he has to. But Gail beats him to the punch. A perfect “Yes, sir.” There’s a weight like lead at his core and it’s all he can do to nod in agreement. He sees Andy look at him in sympathy. Wonders what she guesses. What she knows.

“One more thing.” Frank pauses. It’s agony. Luke just needs to get out of here. It’s as though the room is suddenly in motion and he’s fighting the urge to run. “The deal is that you two will be undercover. It’s the only way they’ll let us be involved. They need a girl Charlie will go for. Peck’s it.”

Luke has no idea how he makes it back to their office. The noise of the barn pounds in his skull. Images flash unbidden into his head. Grey skies and unshed tears. He tries to focus. Gail’s smile is bright, as though she relishes the challenge ahead. She bumps against him as they near the door. “Hey, Homicide? Smile. We might actually get the guy. See you at the airport. Don’t forget your dollar bills.” She spins and is suddenly gone. He feels her absence like part of himself is missing. Prays it’s only temporary.

++++

The next forty-eight hours pass in a blur. He has no idea how they make it through the bustle of the airport. Every instinct tells him not to go, but Gail’s determined and he’s not letting her go alone. She somehow falls asleep on the plane. Head pillowed on his shoulder, knees curled into him. He can hardly focus around the nearness of her. Tells himself not to be a fool. Knows that he’s fighting a losing battle. Just needs to get them both through the next few days.

The air-con in the department briefing room is broken and Luke keeps getting distracted by the sweat beading across Gail’s collarbone. She has her hair pinned up, longer now than when they first met. A single strand has escaped, sticks to her neck, curls below her ear. His fingers itch to touch it. He gulps down a bottle of ice water. Wonders why it does nothing to cool the blaze of heat that seems to envelop him.

She’s oblivious to the effect she has on him, as usual. She leans towards him to whisper in his ear. The heat of her breath on his neck almost ends him. He wonders briefly when he got this invested in her. When he started needing her around simply so he can function. She pushes a piece of paper over to him. A ridiculous smiley face drawn in neon red lipstick. He dares a glance in her direction, steeling himself. She’s pulling a face at him, typically irreverent. He aches at the thought of putting her in harms way. Somehow musters up a smile for her.

The chief detective is outlining their plan to catch Charlie. The LVPD apparently had him in their sights until their only witness mysteriously vanished. No forensic evidence at the crime scenes, just as it was in Toronto. Their only chance is to catch the guy red-handed. And Gail’s the bait. They’re all astounded at the similarities between her and the victims. Luke just wants to grab her and run. Never look back. But she’s determined to prove herself. Always trying to live up to family expectations. Never thinks she’s good enough.

It all sounds easy enough. Gail’s going to work at one of the casinos. Luke doesn’t hear any of the details. He’s too busy working out where the exits are, where someone might hide a body. How quickly he could get from A to B. Focused on the case. On anything but the danger they’re about to expose his partner to. Once again tries to convince himself that’s all that she is to him. Pinches the bridge of his nose and tries to push down the fear storming through his mind. The heat does little to banish his memories of the winter chill.

“Hey. You okay?” She’s suddenly there at his elbow, brow slightly furrowed, concern on her face.

“Yeah, just tired. And really sick of this awful American coffee. You ready?” He marvels as how easily the lies slip out. The omissions between the lines. _Terrified. Helpless. Sorry that it came to this._

“As I’ll ever be.” Said with a shrug. “Let’s go. I need to get my undercover face on. And you look like you need a nap. Seriously, Luke? Have you even slept since yesterday? Or have you been too busy trying to second guess a psycopath? I’ve told you a million times, I’ll be _fine_. Honest.” He longs to believe her. Experience tells him that things rarely go the way he hopes.

+++

He sits alone in his hotel room, staring out at the neon lights of the city. Everything seems safe from up here. He knows it’s nothing more than an illusion. He swirls the amber liquid in his glass, watches as it settles to motionless. Smells smoke and the musky scent of fear in the air. He thinks it must be his own. Drains half the glass in one swallow and steels himself against the night ahead. A knock at the door pierces the silence he’s wrapped around himself. Luke finally pushes against the inertia holding him helpless, strides across the room. Lets out a long exhale, head against the cool wood of the door. Pulls it open.

“Wow. You look…. Wow.” He can’t help himself. The words accompanied by a genuine smile. It seems like forever since he had a grin on his face. He’s almost surprised that the muscles remember what they’re supposed to do. Isn’t remotely surprised by the way his pulse starts to race as he looks at her.

She twirls in his doorway. Hair loose around her shoulders. The usual slash of crimson on her lips. He wonders for a second what it would feel like to kiss it off. Curses himself for a fool. She’s wearing skintight black. Short skirt. Sky-high heels. Suddenly he’s having double vision, a dead face superimposed over the grin she gives him. His amusement of seconds before replaced by genuine dread. He’s pretty sure he’s going to throw up.

“Luke?” The concern in her voice follows him into the room.

“I’m okay. Just shouldn’t be drinking on an empty stomach. You know how it is.”

“Sure.” The word dragged out to double its normal length. He doesn’t really care that clearly she doesn’t believe him for a second. Maybe she’ll finally get the hint and they can leave. Stop this ridiculous operation.

“So, you keep any of that liquid courage for me, Homicide?”

“You know, you can stop calling me that. It’s not like you’re not a homicide detective too. It’s ridiculous.” It comes out angrier than he intended. He tells himself he doesn’t care about the hurt in her eyes. Can tell how taken aback she is at the tone of his voice. She responds the only way she knows how. The way he prayed she would. With fire and accusations.

“ _Seriously?_ What the hell is the matter with you? You’ve been acting insane for months. I would have thought you’d be relieved that we might finally catch this guy. Instead you’re up here getting drunk and moping in the dark. We’re _partners_ , Luke. You’re supposed to talk to me. Not turn into a crazy person.”

“You think _I’m_ the crazy one? You’re the one insisting on being the bait in a trap for a serial killer. Do you honestly think I’m just going to sit back and be okay with that? This isn’t a joke, Gail. This guy is _deadly_ serious. He’s already killed fifteen girls that we know about.”

She shrugs nonchalantly. He suspects he may just have pushed this too far. The one way to guarantee that Gail will do something is to imply that she can’t. He’s an idiot.

“I can take care of myself, _Luke_. There are undercover cops everywhere. What could go wrong? I’m strong, remember.” Her voice softens a little with the last statement. A hint of forgiveness blurs the edges of her words.

He wants to sit her down and run through the extensive list of scenarios running through his head. Each one terrifies him more than the last. But Luke knows it wouldn’t do any good. He recognises the stubborn set of her mouth.

“I _need_ to catch him, Luke. You’re not the only one having sleepless nights you know. I hear footsteps on the street behind me and I wonder if this time he’s coming for me. You think I don’t recognise those girls? I see them every time I look in a mirror. This needs to be over, okay?”

He doesn’t know how she’s suddenly inches away from him. Reaches past him to pick up the half empty glass of scotch. He barely breathes as she swallows it in one.

“Okay.” His voice scratches past the emotion in his throat. Hoarse to his own ears. He almost misses the twitch at the corner of her mouth, a fleeting smile, laced with understanding.

His hands suddenly seem to have developed a mind of their own, hovering on either side of her face. Uncertain. His thumb brushes a stray eyelash from her cheek. He’s suddenly all too aware of the fact that they’re in a hotel room, drops his arms to his sides. Takes a step backwards. Feels his pulse pounding in his chest. Feels the distance open between them like a physical ache.

In between one heartbeat and the next her lips are suddenly on his. Lights flash bright inside his skull. He can taste the whiskey on her tongue, feel her body hard and hot against him. Her hands fist in the hair at the nape of his neck. A spark of electricity runs down his spine. And then it’s just cold, empty air. His eyelids feel like they’re weighted down as he forces them open.

She’s standing just out of reach. Tongue running over her lips. Like she’s still tasting him. He has no idea what to think, what to say. Focuses instead on getting his breathing under control. From the look on her face he suspects he’s failing miserably. She looks like she’s ready to bolt.

“Sorry.” Said on a laughed exhale. She won’t look him in the eyes. Self-reproach on her face.

“Don’t be.” It’s the calmest he’s felt in forever. Ridiculous, considering the circumstances. He offers her a smile.

“See you down at the bar?” He forgets how to inhale again as she finally makes eye contact.

“Not if I see you first.” God, he’s a joke. It gets a smile from her though. Maybe they can actually get through this. Whatever _this_ is. She gives him a backwards glance over her shoulder as she walks out. Her expression impenetrable. He has no idea how they got from yelling at each other to this. He’s pretty certain that what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. He’s just not sure he wants it to.

++++

It took him two cold showers and a pep talk in the mirror, but he’s here. The bar’s dark, crowded and claustrophobic. He hopes that Charlie’ll be a no-show. But the Vegas cops seemed pretty certain he’d be here. Luke doesn’t even need to glance at the grainy photo provided by Swarek. He’s looked at it so many times that it’s almost more familiar to him than his own face. He realises with a mounting sense of anxiety that there’s no sign of Gail. Spots one of the undercover guys leaning on the bar. Walks over, fighting all the instincts that tell him to run.

“Where’s Gail?”

“Peck? Getting ready for the show I’d imagine.”

Luke’s utterly mystified. Wonders if he should have been paying more attention at the briefing. The other cop gestures towards the stage with his glass as the bar gets even darker. There’s a sense of anticipation in the air and the steadily mounting tension grates against his already raw nerves. A sudden hush falls over the crowd gathered in the darkness.

Luke startles as bass starts to pound from hidden speakers. He feels the vibrations resonating in his chest, a steadying counterpoint to the erratic beating of his heart. The stage at the far end of the room is instantly bathed in light, as sudden as the dawn. The crowd pushes inexorably forwards and he realises that he’s being carried along with them, the sense of entrapment beginning to batter at his mind. His eyes suddenly lock onto Gail as she walks out into the spotlight, all thought at once deserting him.

The black trousers of earlier have been replaced with a huge, red-feathered fan and fishnet stockings. Otherwise she looks so like her everyday self that Luke thinks he must be hallucinating. For a moment he thinks he’s probably not going to survive the next thirty seconds. He battles the black fog hovering threateningly at the edges of his vision, somehow remembers to breathe. She’s all curled hair, crimson pouting lips and black, kohl-rimmed eyes. Every move that she makes sets up a thrumming counterpoint in his veins, white hot with longing.

He’s heard her sing before, on the ill-advised nights when they all go out to the Penny and get drunk, giggling their way through karaoke. He’s not sure of he’s grateful or not that he’s never seen her like this before. Wonders if his self-control could have handled it. The tantalising flashes of thigh behind the fan, as she dips and sways, cause him to have flashbacks to her mouth on his. He can almost feel her up against him. It takes him longer than it should to realise that she’s scanning the crowd even as she performs, her voice thick with promises, singing of fever, love and desire. Not for the first time he wonders if he can just take her away from this life and never look back.

He tries to swallow past the dry ball of desire in his throat as Gail steps off the stage, abandoning the fan and all pretence at modesty. She sways slowly through the crowd, heading straight towards him. He can’t understand why she stops as she reaches a table six feet away, starts singing to the man sitting there. Luke tries to suppress the anger that rushes to the surface, to fight the feeling that she’s _his_. In that second he thinks that he hates himself and wonders if maybe this is hell.

Gail slowly peels off a glove, a finger at a time, drapes it across the stranger’s shoulder and leaves him with a kiss on the cheek. Luke tries not to care that her lipstick leaves a perfect outline of scarlet on the man’s jaw. His effort is half-hearted at best. He’s man enough to admit that it’s jealousy churning in his gut, even if he can’t bring himself to tell her. She gives him a long look as she sashays back towards the stage, ignoring the whistles and cheers that follow her. Disappears behind a curtain to deafening applause.

“That’s him. Your girl’s pretty damn good.” The murmur in his ear startles Luke, who turns, confused. The undercover cop from earlier stands there, looking impressed. “The guy she kissed. That’s your man, Charlie”

Luke curses under his breath. He was so focused on Gail and his own idiotic thoughts that he allowed himself to forget the whole point of them being here. He didn’t even recognise Charlie and he has no idea where the man is now. The table he was sitting at is conspicuously empty. The only evidence that it was occupied is Gail’s glove, deserted next to a half-empty glass of bourbon. He walks over, dread dragging at his feet with every slow step. A crumpled napkin beside the glass has a single word on it in Gail’s messy scrawl. ‘Backstage’. He feels his pulse stutter, restart at double tempo.

Luke has no idea how to get backstage, starts frantically pushing through the crush of people in the bar. Earns himself several shoves and black looks in return, which he barely even registers. Suddenly he finds himself out in the bright lights of the casino and his eyes ache as they adjust to the neon overhead. The noise of people and slot machines is deafening, but all Luke can hear is his own heartbeat pounding in his skull. Suddenly he sees the door he’s looking for. So near, but it seems like it takes an eternity to arrive. He wrenches it open and finds nothing but a long, empty corridor. Starts to run, hoping that maybe he’ll be able to leave behind the fear churning in his stomach.

He almost collides with two of the Vegas cops as he slides round a corner. Manages to gasp out Gail’s name between breaths.

“She went out back with Charlie Baker. Gave us the sign not to follow for five minutes. So here we are, waiting. There’re about thirty seconds to go. Hey!”

Luke doesn’t wait to hear the end of the sentence. Can’t shake the feeling that he has to find Gail right now. The dry heat of the Nevada desert rakes across the inside of his lungs as he rushes out into the night, frantically searching for a sign of his partner. The alley’s deserted apart from a stray cat picking its way through one of the huge dumpsters. At his feet he sees two small red feathers dancing slowly around each other, caught in the breeze from the open door. The only sign that Gail was ever here. He can’t even fathom the feelings rushing through his blood. Terror and defeat. Loss and need. He feels as though he’s about to break into a million pieces and has no idea how to hold himself together.

He spins as he feels a hand on his shoulder, his right hand clenched instinctively into a fist. A memory sluggishly drags its way to the surface of his jumbled thoughts, bursts into clarity. It’s the cop from the bar, smiling reassuringly. Luke somehow manages to find the guy’s name in the chaos raging though his mind. Tony. He clings to that. Tries to ground himself.

“Callaghan? You okay? You kind of look like shit. No offence.”

Luke doesn’t trust himself to open his mouth. Hopes that by not saying out loud that Gail’s gone, he might be able to keep it from being true. Manages to shrug non-committally.

“Thought you might want to come with us. The surveillance guys are tracking them at the moment. Looks like they’re headed out into the desert and there’s not a lot of cover out there. Probably best to take as few cars as possible. We’ll be less visible that way.”

Luke just manages to spin himself back towards the wall before the knot in his guts unclenches. He retches into the gutter, adrenaline racing. Tries to pretend that the hot tears pricking the back of his eyes are just a basic reflex. Can’t quite believe that he’s started trying to lie to himself. Tony’s offering him a handkerchief and a look of understanding. He takes one, ignores the other. Drags a shuddering breath into lungs that burn, strangely grateful for the pain that grounds him.

“Sure. Lead on.” His voice grates in his own head. Rough and scratched, as though he’s been screaming. It matches the way that he feels.

++++

They drive through the darkness, the temperature slowly dropping as they leave the city. Luke feels a cold tongue of dread coil up his spine, settle in just under his ribcage. He feels it there with every beat of his heart, a reminder of his past failures. Every blink of his eyes reveals a different landscape of snow and ice superimposed over the darkness outside. He forces away the images of the faces that rise to confront him.

It seems like they’ve been driving forever. Luke’s surprised when he checks his watch and realises that only ten interminable minutes have passed. There’s a reassuring murmur of voices over the radio, confirming Gail’s position. He feels the tension thrumming through him like an arrow about to launch. He just needs to see that she’s safe. Wants to be home and have this nightmare be over. He jolts out of his reverie as he realises the car is slowing to a halt.

“Why’re we stopping? What’s going on? What’s happening?” He doesn’t care that he sounds like one of the frantic relatives he’s so used to trying to console. Doesn’t even mind when he hears the same soothing tones he’s used to employing coming from Tony’s mouth.

“They’ve stopped just over the rise. We’ll go on foot from here. Don’t want to spook him. She’s managed to get him this far. His M.O. seems to be that they’re comfortable enough to make it to the desert with him. Sand on the ties that bind them. That’s how we know he waits till he gets them here. She knows what’s coming Luke. The other girls? None of them suspected a thing. And we’re here.”

It all makes perfect sense. The problem is that all rational thought has been replaced by the thought that it’s _Gail_ that they’re talking about. Her name a silent scream, echoing through his head. He nods once. Reaches to his side and feels the reassuring weight of his gun. At this point he no longer cares how this ends. Just that it does. Falls into place behind Tony as the other man starts moving carefully through the darkness towards the halo of car headlights just over the ridge. Feels, rather than sees, others falling into place around them.

Gail’s perfectly outlined in the twin beams of car headlights, Charlie standing over her. Luke has only enough time to register the fact that her hands are tied and she’s not moving before his feet are in motion. He hears a distant scream as the two of them grow larger in his vision. It’s only when Charlie’s head whips around to face him that Luke realises it’s coming from his own mouth. It takes him a second longer than it should before he recognises the glint of light on cold steel as Charlie raises his arm. Three gunshots puncture the night, ripping through the dark.

Luke stumbles as his vision goes black. Feels his knees hit the sand hard. The metallic taste of blood on his tongue as his teeth rattle together. All he can hear is the hammering of his own heartbeat loud in his ears, competing with the ragged tempo of harsh inhales. Forced exhales.

The world suddenly flashes into clarity. Luke shields his eyes against the beam of half a dozen headlights that throw the scene into sharp relief. Gail’s still motionless on the ground but Charlie now lies beside her and there’s a dark crimson stain spreading slowly across the ground. He forces himself back to his feet and somehow covers the distance between them. A cursory glance at Charlie shows a perfect circle in the centre of his forehead. Luke leaves him to the others, leans over Gail.

His fingers work anxiously at her throat, searching for a pulse, any sign that he’s not too late. Two bright red spheres stand out on the pallor of her cheek like intruders. He swipes them away with a thumb, only succeeds in painting blood across her face, an exact match to the colour of her lips. It takes him long moments to realise that he’s saying her name over and over. Like a prayer. A plea. His hands shake uncontrollably as he works at the knot that ties her arms, finally releases her. Brings his head down towards her, fingers threading through the blonde hair at her temples.

“Luke?” Her eyelids slowly flutter open. Blue eyes lock on his.

“Hi.” It’s more a sigh of relief than a word. He manages a watery half-smile.

“Hey.” The edges of her mouth curl slightly. “Homicide.”

Luke presses his forehead to hers, nose to nose. Surprises himself as a genuine smile creases his face. Presses his lips to her forehead and raises his eyes to confront the chaos around them. Glass from the shattered headlights of Charlie’s car surrounds them, as though they’re at the eye of a storm. Rainbows of light flicker in the sand, blue and red from the lights of arriving squad cars. Gail has her hands fisted in the forearms of his jacket and he can feel her shivering. Charlie lies beside them, lifeless, and for the first time in months Luke feels free.

Paramedics appear from the blur of people that surrounds them, all concern and prying questions. Gail gives them monosyllabic responses, the fingers of her right hand still twisted in the material of Luke’s sleeve. She tries to stand and nearly stumbles. Luke feels his stomach drop as he finally sees how shaken she is, feels as though he’s standing on the edge of an abyss. Covers for both of them by finally just sweeping her up into his arms, pressed against his chest, and carrying her to the waiting ambulance. He doesn’t know what to say to her, where to begin. Settles for just sitting beside her as the medics check her over and pronounce that she needs to get checked out at the hospital. Finally allows himself to be ushered away to a nearby van to give his statement. Looks over his shoulder to give her what he hopes is a look of reassurance, but the doors are already closed, the ambulance pulling away.

++++

Hours later, everything finally signed off and approved, Charlie’s body on the way to the morgue, Luke eventually makes it back to the hotel. He detoured via the hospital only to be told that Gail had been discharged hours ago. He doesn’t really believe them when he’s told that she’s fine. Remembers the look on her face as he prised her fingers off his arm. Knows from his own bitter experience that there are some things that you never recover from. Some faces you’ll never forget.

He pauses outside her room, unsure if the interruption will be welcomed. Finally decides that he doesn’t really care. He feels like he’s standing out in the corridor for an eternity before Gail pulls the door open. He can tell from the jut of her jaw and the defiant look in her eyes that he’s not quite quick enough to hide his look of concern. Her eyes are red, telltale smudges of mascara on her cheeks, face stripped of makeup. He can’t stop looking at her mouth, bare of lipstick but still hypnotic to him. Has a split second of clarity when he realises that this was definitely a bad idea.

“Well, are you coming in or not? You’re interrupting good drinking time. And no, I don’t particularly want to talk about it.” There’s a pile of tissues sitting on the coffee table next to a bottle of whiskey. She grabs a second glass as she walks back into the room. Slumps barefoot onto the floor, fills the glasses and holds one up to him.

“What? No tequila?” Luke’s only half joking. He’s only seen her drink whiskey three times. Once the night Swarek nearly got himself killed and Luke felt like _he_ was the one that got ripped apart. The second time at Diaz’s wedding reception. And tonight.

“I liked you better before you thought you were funny. And if you even _think_ about asking if I’m okay, I’ll kick you out.”

“Fair enough.” Luke shrugs off his jacket and takes the proffered glass. Relishes the burn of the alcohol at the back of his throat and the warmth that spreads through his body. Kicks off his shoes and sits on the couch. Doesn’t trust himself next to her on the floor. Allows the silence to stretch out a little too long, paper thin and taut.

“I thought he was going to kill me.” She says it so quietly that he almost doesn’t hear her. He doesn’t know what to say. How to explain that he would have died before he let that happen. Settles for sliding onto the floor next to her and gently bumping her shoulder with his own. She takes another gulp of her drink, before turning and looking him straight in the eyes. “I’m glad he’s dead. He deserved it.”

“I know. Me too.” It’s woefully inadequate but Luke doesn’t know how to turn the emotions racing around his head into words and phrases. He feels Gail’s free hand slide down his arm before she twines her fingers through his, squeezes gently. He knows she understands.

“I _hate_ Las Vegas.” She delivers it in such a petulant tone that he can’t help but laugh. The smile that appears on her face is like the sun coming up. A fresh start. That’s when he knows they’re going to be fine.

++++

He wakes with a pounding headache and the taste of stale whiskey on his breath, face pressed into his pillow. He tries to gather the threads of the rest of the night before into some semblance of order, but they keep unraveling and getting tangled up in his mind. He simultaneously realises that this isn’t his bed and that there’s someone else in it. Sifts through the fog in his mind for a clue that won’t involve having to move and trigger the nausea hovering at his peripheries.

Luke definitely remembers the fourth glass of whiskey but things start getting hazy after that. He’s pretty sure that Gail bullied him into watching Buffy the Vampire slayer. Vaguely remembers that she decided they would drink every time a vampire appeared. He’s certain that was where things degenerated. That, or the moment she accused him of being just like Riley.

 _“Don’t be stupid. I wouldn’t just leave on a helicopter in the middle of the night. I’d stick around and fight for Buffy.”_

 _“Ohhhh. So now you want to be Spike.” Tip of her tongue caught between her teeth. Nose wrinkling as her face creases with laughter._

 _“Shut-up.” Another drink._

Absolutely Gail’s fault then. He doesn’t really care if he’s honest, just glad that all of this is finally finished with. He feels as though a weight has been lifted from his shoulders. It’s the first dreamless sleep he’s had in months. A toe suddenly pokes him in the thigh and he goes rigid. Does a quick inventory in his mind and establishes that he’s still wearing his T-shirt and boxers. So, probably he’s not in as much trouble as he thinks.

“Luke. _Luke_. You awake?” She doesn’t sound as bad as he feels. He manages a grunt. “I need water. And drugs.” He doesn’t answer. “Luke!” Punctuated by several digs to the leg, almost pushing him out of bed.

“Okay! I’m going. God. What did your last slave die of?”

“I’d tell you, but then I’d have to kill you. Drugs!”

Luke’s not entirely sure that any part of him is up to being vertical but, surprisingly, it’s not actually as bad as he feared. He finally risks a look at Gail. Her hair’s a mess, clinging to the pillow with static, haloed around her head. She’s pouting at him, clearly irritated at his lack of movement. Most importantly she’s clothed. He breathes a sigh of relief. He brutally suppresses the realization that his main concern was the sadness he’d feel if he’d actually slept with her and couldn’t remember.

“Bathroom. By the sink. Glasses too. Come on, hurry up. I’m dying over here.”

He considers taking long moments to stretch, just to irritate her further. Decides it probably isn’t worth it. Finds the painkillers and ducks his head under the tap, relishes the coolness of the water as he swallows. Cups a handful of liquid and scrubs it roughly over his face, trying to rub away the remnants of their overindulgence. Fills another glass and carries it out to her.

“I’m never drinking with you again.”

“Whatever, Homicide. That’s what you said the last time.” She gulps the pills down, drains her glass in one. “And the time before that too, come to think of it.” Said with an innocent smile.

“Cute.” He pauses, uncertain. “Listen, I’d better get back to my room. I should really take a shower.” Leaves out the part where it’ll probably have to be cold. Gail’s top is virtually transparent and it’s leaving very little to the imagination. Luke doesn’t know if it’s the fact that he’s no longer worrying about a serial killer or that he’s taken leave of his senses, but he suddenly finds himself wondering what would happen if he climbed back into the bed next to her.

“Just shower here. You’ll scare the other guests if you wander down the hallway looking like that. I’ll even let you use my bodywash.” She rolls over, giggling. Luke decides he just needs to get away from temptation. The shower seems as good a place as any.

++++

Luke stands at the mirror and takes several deep breaths trying to calm the thoughts racing round his head. He spins the shower dial to cold, takes a deep breath and steps under the spray. The water hits him and for a perfect second every inch of him is focused on the icy cold pounding his body, all thought driven from his mind. He reaches a moment where the cold is so punishing that it almost feels like knives stripping his skin, finally puts out his hand and slowly turns the heat up. Puts his head under the spray and lets the water flow down his neck. Imagines hands ghosting up his sides, around his torso. Opens his eyes to find they’re real.

He spins round to face her. Gail stands frozen in front of him, arms slightly outstretched. He can see her pulse racing at her throat. See her making the choice to stay or run. Lets out a breath he didn’t even realise he was holding as she takes a minute step towards him, raises her right hand and places it over his heart. He feels as though her hand exerts a gravitational pull on it, hammering hard against his ribcage. She pushes him gently backwards until they’re both standing under the spray, raises her mouth to his.

Luke feels as though Gail’s lips are the only thing tethering him to the ground and all he can feel is teeth, tongue and her nails scraping at the back of his neck. They break apart and he manages to gasp a breath, forces his eyelids to open. Gail’s looking straight at him, breathing hard. Her shirt has succumbed to the water, now totally sheer, nipples standing out hard against the fabric. His fingers fumble on the buttons in his haste but finally he manages to sweep the material aside, bends his head and slowly swipes his tongue up and over. Gail throws her head back and arches towards him. A quiet groan that nearly undoes him.

He licks slowly up the side of her throat, the softness of her a direct contrast to the hard water hammering the back of his neck. Bites gently at the angle of her jaw, gratified to hear his name sighed on an exhale. Returns to her mouth as he gently peels her top from her shoulders. He startles as he feels a hand ghost over his hip, insistent fingers pulling him towards her. He finally manages to pull his mouth away from hers and _looks_ at her. Beads of water have collected on her eyelashes and he gently wipes them away with the pad of his thumb, an unspoken question in his eyes. She smiles, nods once and pulls his head back down to hers.

Gail’s got him backed up against the shower wall, her full length pushed up against him, arms locked around his neck. Almost before he knows what he’s doing he’s got his hands under her ass, lifting and spinning her round. She lets out a soft exhale as her back hits the wall, thighs coming up to grip his hips. Suddenly the only thing separating them is the wet cotton of her sodden underwear, his mind racing as he realises the implications behind what they’re doing. He pauses long enough that Gail digs an impatient heel into his ass, basically grinding his cock against her. His groan echoes loud in the confined space and Gail chuckles, bucks her hips.

Next thing he knows he’s cupping her through the fabric, her head falling back to the tiles, breathing jagged, his thumb rubbing lazy circles. What little space there is between them suddenly seems like too much and Luke clutches at the edges of his rapidly fraying self-control.

“I want to feel you.”

It’s more of a command than a plea and either way it has Luke pulling her underwear aside and slowly pushing into her, hot and tight. The slickness of her mixing with the water, blasting his mind with sensations that he barely knows how to deal with. Her head drops onto his shoulder as he starts to move inside her, everything focused on their ragged breathing and the way she clenches around him. He can feel heat building at the base of his spine, sparks beginning to fire up his back, through his chest. Gail’s breath hitches and he can feel her tightening around him. He’s murmuring nonsense in her ear as her whole body tenses and she bites at the base of his neck. It’s enough to send him spiraling over the edge straight after her, stumbling her backwards against the wall as the two of them slide messily to the floor.  
“So.” He leaves it hanging there. The unspoken question echoing alongside the insistent spray of water and the sound of irregular breaths.

“Yeah. That happened. Sorry.” He shoots her a look of complete disbelief. They’re basically naked in the shower, her legs still either side of him and she’s still apologising. He feels a tightening in his chest, a wave of fear that she’s about to backpedal on all of this. Whatever _this_ is. This thing where he can’t be in the same room as her any more without wanting to touch her. “Near death situations have a way of making me act crazy.” She’s avoiding his eyes, the casual tones of her voice a direct contrast to the tension he sees in every other line of her body. She untangles her legs and slides out of the rapidly cooling shower, enfolds herself in a towel.

“Gail? Don’t be sorry.” He leaves unspoken the fact that he’s not. That he’s been trying hard not to picture this for months. That he doesn’t remember the last time anything felt as right to him as this. “It’s just – you did get to keep that burlesque outfit, right?” Her eyebrows hitch as she shoots him an indecipherable look.

“It was basically mine to begin with. Why?” The laughter is already trying to edge out the suspicion lacing through her words. He shrugs innocently and reaches to shut off the shower. Turns back to find the bathroom empty of everything but steam and his own racing heartbeat. Grabs a towel and slings it around his hips, determined to deal with this situation before it spirals out of control.

Walks out of the bathroom and stops short at the site of Gail perched on the edge of the bed wearing nothing but heels, the fan from last night and a smirk. He steps towards her. Thinks maybe Las Vegas isn’t so bad after all.


End file.
